


Rawhide!

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/F - Category, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend from his college ROTC days calls Jim up, and his reaction to her is unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rawhide!

well, do to popular demand.... 

(visualize a disclaimer. archive at will, thanks to christina for the title) 

your royal cook serves for your dining pleasure..... 

## RAWHIDE!

by AntyEnteT  


He had been quite surprised to get the phone call, not unpleasantly, just surprised. No contact for years and then, "Hi! Can I borrow you for a few hours?" 

James Ellison turned his head to look at the driver. Her hair was still the same burnished copper he remembered, eyes still sparkled with a wicked gleam, still firm in all the right places, soft where she should be...and she still drove like a bat out of hell, too. He felt rather sorry for the poor old mustang, the torture she put it through, had been for as long as he'd known her. Rasuri Marachtal and her convertible of doom. Neither had changed a bit. 

"Where's the fire? We're just going back to the loft!" he shouted over the wind rushing past his ears. 

"Got to beat the storm! The top's stuck!" she shouted back, letting go of the steering wheel for a moment to readjust her ponytail. She grabbed it again just after Jim, catching his hand. She smiled mischievously as she drew her long nails lightly over the back of his hand, taking a little longer to reach the black plastic ring than was necessary. 

Jim withdrew his hand, feeling, for some unknown reason, embarrassed. Rasuri just chuckled, a deep throaty sound that hinted at forbidden sins and the pleasure derived from them. Then, the first drops of rain smacked loudly, at least to him, on his short cropped pate. 

"Bloody hell!" Rasuri pressed the accelerator to the floor, the needle rounding the speedometer to flutter at 140mph. It was already too late. All her added speed had availed them nothing. 

Five minutes later, thoroughly drenched and chilled to the bone, they pulled into the garage of the detective's building. Rasuri parked the '66 next to Jim's own vehicle, where Blair normally kept the corvair. *But not this week,* thought Ellison, idly wondering what his Guide was up to. *Probably cozied up to some blond-haired bikini model. At least he won't be home til Saturday....." He glanced sideways at the forlorn redhead beside him, an evil chuckle of his own rumbling up from his diaphragm. 

"It's not funny, dammit! I should have made it!" she could barely get the words out, her teeth were chattering so furiously. 

"Let's go in and get dry. I may even cook dinner." he kidded her, jostling his shoulder against hers before sloshing out of the car. 

"Can't we just send out for something?" she pleaded, remembering the fiasco of the last time he had offered to cook for her. "This place is too nice for you to burn down...." 

Ellison held the door for Rasuri, closing and locking it habitually after she had entered. The keys went into the omnipresent basket as he passed, calling out behind him, "Just wait here for a second and I'll get some towels so we don't drip all over the place." 

She watched as he pulled his sweater over his head, the soggy grey wool sliding over his well-defined muscles with some reluctance, as if it longed to remain in contact with that Adonis-like body. Letting out a deep sigh and running her hand across the garment on the dishrack, still warm where his chest had filled it so prominently mere heartbeats ago. She turned away as he disappeared from her sight, thinking that it would do her well to follow his lead and remove her water-laden outer clothing. *Why, oh ,why did I never go out with this guy? I must have been out of my mind!" 

Jim rummaged through the top drawer of his dresser, tossing socks and plaid boxers on its unvarnished surface. A t-shirt, one that was actually too small for him--*Blair's?*--joined the small pile of dry clothing. Grabbing clean towels from the bag hanging off the metal shelving he used as a closet, he trotted back down the stairs only to pull up short at the sight before him. Like some ragged fairy tale heroine, she stood in a slowly expanding puddle of water, The stark contrast created by her liquid-darkened hair plastered against her creamy flesh, rivulets streaming freely wherever it touched, made her seem all the more pathetic. He brought a towel around her shoulders, unthinkingly pulling her to him. A sudden sneeze startled him from his reverie and he stepped away from her cold, shivering form. 

"Why don't you take a hot shower while i get the fire and dinner going?" He turned away quickly, not wanting her to see his obvious arousal. Had she always smelled so alluring? "I put some things on the back of the sofa for you to change into. They might be a bit big." 

"Thanks, Jim." she smiled, the heat of his body lingering, making her ache for more. She stepped into the bathroom and removed the rest of her clothing. Climbing into the shower, she allowed herself a fleeting glimpse of what it might be like to feel that body a little closer, a little longer. As her bones thawed, her resolve solidified. 

He listened to the spray of steamy water caress her body, wishing his hands could be so lucky. The fire crackled in the grate, dispelling the clammy atmosphere the loft had taken on since Sandburg had gone on vacation, and Ellison ascended once more to his bedroom. He changed quickly, eager to be dry and in the kitchen, hoping the actions of preparing their repast would distract him and ease the pressure in his groin. With each passing moment, his fascination with Rasuri intensified until, at last, he could no longer grasp a utensil without his hand shaking with desire. 

Jim put turned off the stove, grabbed a beer from the fridge and collapsed into the large, pale yellow chair that lurked in the corner of his living room. He leant his head back, letting the swig of beer he'd taken trickle down his esophagus. Eyes closed, he thought back to his first exposure to the woman he lusted for. *Why now and never then?*   
  


* * *

  


It was August, another asphalt softening day, and Jim Ellison had only a page left of his Zane Grey novel. He sweltered, as did the other young men, in the stifling stillness of the classroom, wishing class would begin so that it might sooner be over. 

He turned the page to read the last paragraph and was nearly blinded from the blistering sunlight streaming in behind the figure in the doorway. He tilted his head, squinting his aqua blue eyes to better view the interloper. An unexpected light breeze gently stirred the curly wisps of red hair escaping from olive drab cap, the bill pulled down so low as to give her face the look of a cobra: hooded and calculating. His eyes panned slowly down, marking the firm roundness of her breasts, captured and held high by the brassiere under the speckled grey t-shirt; the slender waist encircled by an unadorned brown leather belt; her bronzed thighs caressed by hundreds of straggly denim threads comprising the hem of her cutoffs; a small scar on her left knee, accenting rather than marring the perfection of her shapely legs; one forest green and one sky blue sock topped a worn black combat boot respectively; the boots themselves appearing to have been polished with dayglo pink paint to fill in the spidery cracks indicative of long time use. His whole head jerked upwards to devour her face again as she spoke. 

"This ROTC?" She waited patiently for an answer and when none came, she walked over to stand in front of Jim's desk. "Well, Cap? Is it?" 

He felt the insignia he wore on the lapels of his standard GI shirt weighing him down with shame at the overt leering he'd just given her. "Ye...," his voice cracked, forcing him to clear his throat and try again, "Yes, it is." he answered with some gruffness. 

"Then I'm in the right place." She smiled a lopsided little grin and plunked herself into the first available desk she came to. 

Over the following weeks, Jim would uncover many the odd fact about Rasuri Marachtal, the only woman to ever even want to enroll in the university's ROTC program. She was an army brat, spoke several languages, was allergic to bananas, knew the complete text of L'Mort du Arthur word for word, could drink anyone under the table....trivial things. Not once did it cross his mind to ask her out, though they spent more time together than apart. She had become "one of the guys" before any had realized it. Never even the slightest stirrings had he felt for her after that lingering initial glance....   
  


* * *

  


His mind, holding on to that exquisite first look, wafted back into the present, melding with and strengthening the undeniable attraction he felt for Rasuri. Unknowingly, he whispered her name aloud. 

Warm, soft hands slid under his shirt, startling him with their knowing touch. He opened his eyes as she draped her towel wrapped body full length atop him, slim fingers catching the fabric they had just crept beneath and dragging it over his head. Powerless, and unwilling, to resist, he raised his arms to facilitate the removal. One arm free, Jim pulled Rasuri tighter against him, the bulge in his jeans straining to be closer still. "Ras...." 

"Shhhh." she murmured, dancing emerald eyes closing as she arched forward to press her lips to his. Their tongues met for a hungry yet patient waltz, each savoring the taste of the other. 

His other hand, released from its cloth restraint at last, hesitantly glided its mildly callused palm up the back of her thigh, stopping to cup her smooth buttock, fingertips tracing the valley separating the two glorious orbs of her ass. Gods, how he wanted her! Needed her! 

Rasuri groped downwards to Jim's crotch, somehow maintaining a languid pace as she undid the top button of his fly. She ruffled the coarse hair that started just below his navel, liberated the second button when he shuddered beneath her, third as a moan resonated through his chest. The briefest touch of her nails along the plaid flannel still hiding his rockhard shaft snapped him into a less reclining position, his hands--one at the small of her back, the other in the hollow between her shoulder blades--crushed her inwards, the terry cloth of her towel almost painful against his bare chest as his sense of touch expanded with each eternal second. 

Jim shifted to allow the removal of his hampering pants and underwear. The supple suede of the obtusely angled chairback, adding the sensation of coolness and contrasting the rising heat between their entwining bodies, caressed his broad back as he leant back. He sat up straighter again, tilting Rasuri backwards, breaking their tonsil strumming kiss to nip and nuzzle the winter paled skin of her neck, her collarbone, leaning himself still further up, her back curving like a wave to give him access to the hard, flushed nipples jutting for attention now that the concealing towel was dropped to the floor. He grazed his teeth, simultaneously suckling, tenderly back and forth around the pert nub of her right breast. Her scent changing, bringing him to previously unknown plateaus of physical rapture, as she became more aroused. Still they prolonged their tryst, each movement agonizing in its patient deliberation, reenforcing the bond, the need, the lust they could no longer deny. 

"Now, Jim, I need you now," Rasuri breathed huskily as she put her hands on his shoulders, pressing him into the chair, taut, sweat-sheened muscles contacting with cool, smooth leather. She guided his throbbing cock to her slick, waiting cunt. 

They thrust as one, joined pelvis to pelvis. She used her weight, slight as it was, to set the pace--a gentle, almost lazy rocking, vaginal muscles clenching on the upward/forward stroke, releasing to take him deeper within herself on the backward/downward slide, increasing in speed and grinding pressure as their release neared. 

"Ride me hard," gasped Jim, hands clutching Rasuri's hips, holding the pace to a measured buildup, keeping them locked together. Nearly zoning out as he let himself experience the full sensation of her rhythmic spasms engulfing his rampant manhood, spine tensing and pulling him away from the pastel upholstery, he murmured again, "Ride me!" 

"Like the stallion you are," she growled, increasing the pace from a trot to a full gallop. Her nails blazed a trail of fire down his back as she climaxed, Jim following a nanosecond behind. They remained in the frozen tableau of orgasm, feeling the stress on every taut tendon and ligament, stretching themselves to their limits to prolong the moment. 

They took their time relaxing, falling gently into each other, releasing tense muscles with great care to deter charlie horses. 

Rasuri sat astride Jim, weight distributed evenly, waiting for his eyes to focus. He reigned in his vision, narrowing the field to settle on her face, her quirky grin infectious, its twin spreading across his own visage. He reached up to pull her in for a well earned kiss, teal eyes promising another lap around the track. 

A not exactly discreet cough disrupted their afterglow contemplations. Jim snaps his head to the left to peer around Rasuri. 

Seeing the outrage battling with chagrin for dominant expression, Rasuri glances over her shoulder. The sight of a hippy looking twenty-something stifling his mirth and trying to appear embarrassed and apologetic suddenly struck her as extremely funny. All it took was Jim's menacing bark of, "Sandburg!" to circumvent her last shred of propriety. With one last look at Jim's expression, she started giggling. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the chuckling escalated to full force gales of laughter racking her entire body. 

Jim had to grab her quickly to keep her from falling backwards off of him and onto the floor. He glared at Blair again, jerking his head in command to the anthropologist. At least the younger man had the courtesy to look mortified at Rasuri's hysteria. 

She took another peek at Sandburg, the new expression sent her into new spasms of glee. Blair retreated to his own room and closed the door, he would surely never let Jim live this down. She wrapped her arms around Jim, her snickering muted by his neck. 

He sighed, and as Rasuri hiccuped, decided that if he couldn't beat her, he may as well join her. Holding her tightly against his broad chest, he thought of what they must have looked like and the expression on Blair's easily read face, he gave into his own amusement. 

Blair Sandburg watched them through the slim crack he'd left between door and jam. He smiled in satisfaction, nodding in agreement with himself. "Laugh while you can, Jim, you certainly deserve it." Putting on his headphones, he chuckled, too, turning the volume up to finally drown out the wild peals of laughter of his friend and his friend's new lover.   
  


* * *

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